Good bye
by Aoife Malfoy
Summary: HPDM Slash. AU. Post War. Draco’s POV. The best endings are always bittersweet.


**Title: **Good bye  
**Author:** Aoife Malfoy  
**Word Count: **1,323  
**Pairing: **H/D  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Genre:** Pure unapologetic Angst  
**Beta:** The fastest beta in the West, Micole Rose(and the most wonderful)  
**Warnings:** AU. Post War. Draco's POV.  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is property of JKR. Only borrowing for my own twisted means.  
**Dedication:** lirecasander for being the 100th person to friend me on LJ! I kind of tweaked your prompt a bit. Hope you don't mind!  
**Summary:** The best endings are always bittersweet.

The others had left a long time ago. The exact hour I could no longer distinguish for this curse that has been depleting me of my life force has made the minutes, hours and days all meld into one. In the face of imminent death, little things like that seem to lose their importance anyway. My body is weak and frail, no longer fit and toned by days of Quidditch. My face is old and weary, its youthfulness and innocence long since lost before my affliction. My long blonde hair lies limply now, not slicked back in artful grace and style like days of old. I have changed. Mind, body and soul, but then again that's to be expected of the terminally ill.

I turn my head carefully, my vision swimming as I try to locate that trademark mop of black hair and I smile when I finally do. I call out to you and ever so slowly you turn your head. I frown as I examine your face, so drawn and taut. This has always been the thing I dreaded most about the whole affair. The thought of death doesn't frighten me anymore. After all, I've had ample time to come to terms with it. There was really nothing else to do. They've tried every cure and searched every corner of the world to find an answer. There simply isn't one. Some things go even beyond the repair of magic. I'm sick. I'm dying and that is the end of that.

No, the thing that keeps me awake at night, murmuring softly as I cling to your sleeping form, is my dread in facing this very moment. I fear this above all else. The time when the end would be near and I'd be force to take my leave. Not once have I ever bid you _good-bye_. It was always a "_See you later, love_" or even a sneering "_You'll be seeing me again, Potter_!" that I used to bellow when we were both young and stupid. So it pains me now to have to say it. It sounds so final, so cruel and bleak. Offering no hope for the future, for any planned rendezvous in a special place in heaven, or hell as it may very well be. It is the end, quite simply and horribly. It feels too synonymous to '_never_' for my tastes. For it's true, I'll never see that face again laughing over some crude Weasley joke. Never feel that touch again which always drove me insane with need and want. Never feel those lips moving over mine, tasting me and claiming what I've given freely. Never. Never. Never.

I don't think I can say it.

So instead, I carefully motion you to come closer and you do so with a healthy bit of fear and denial in your eyes. I smile softly, my whole body trembling from the effort. I begin to pant and wheeze, my thoughts turning to wonder why the hell dying needed to be so unnecessarily undignified. You start to say something but you cut yourself off and what comes out is a cross between a choked sob and a gutted surly lion. Your tears flow freely now. You've always been such a touchy-feely Gryffindor. Must be the crazy old coot's influence or perhaps some bizarre requirement of your House. The playful old insult is at the tip of my tongue but I find myself unable to find the strength to form the words. Right, well that really sucks. Dying takes out all the fun in life.

I turn these thoughts in my head as a way to forget my fear, to make this somehow easier for me to say those words but it fails completely. It doesn't take the sting away from the knowledge that the thousand different things I want to say to you will always be left unsaid. It doesn't erase the strong fear that still grasps my whole being in knowing that I'm about to leave you.

You're close to hysterics now. You're shaking your head and wringing your hands as if you're fighting some inner demon. With all the strength I have left, I raise my ridiculously shaking hand and cover it over yours. You look at me in a mixture of shock, wonder and a tremendous amount of love. Soon enough, your eyes fill with tears again and if I had more vigor left, I would have snorted and rolled my eyes. But I don't have any reserves of strength to maintain that mask and so when you cry, I silently cry with you.

Now with tears streaming down both of our faces, I struggle to say those final words. I just want to desperately purchase a sense of peace between us. I want it so bad it hurts. I look into your dull emerald eyes, red-rimmed with steady tears and I halt. Jarring realization dawns on me that if I say it, my life will not be the only one lost today. It will cost you yours as well. For hearing me say good-bye would break your already fragile hope that you are selfishly guarding in your heart. Because not hearing that word would be sufficient enough for "_maybe_". Maybe we'll see each other again in the next life. Maybe you can touch me, taste me and claim me once more. Maybe there is a future for us after all even if it won't be anytime soon.

And like always when you cling to something with that much conviction and single-minded determination, you manage to change my beliefs as well. Suddenly, I'm not scared anymore. I feel my fears drifting away. For there is hope for us yet and I've finally allowed myself to believe it. But reality grounds me once again as you let out another whimper of desperate pain that makes my soul ache because I may no longer be afraid but the same could not be said for you. The fear of good bye still grips you and I scramble to find away to relieve it one more time just as you've done with me.

I struggle to find adequate words. Something to bring you back from the brink of your despair. Something to remind you that solace could always be found in fond memories. You already know I love you more than the sun, the moon and everything in between. You've heard how much I'll miss you. I search desperately to find the right words as I've barely had the strength and time to offer any flowery prose. Finally, I find the perfect ones to say and I weakly clear my throat a few times before I can convince my vocal chords to finally work long enough to say it.

"Will you still love me in the morning?" I ask in the barest of all whispers and my heart soars as your widened eyes meet mine.

Suddenly we are transported back to a happier time. An era of burgeoning clumsy love, shy awkward firsts and stilted conversations. When what began as a harmless bet between friends in the lull after the War turned into something more. And it was that phrase that I uttered then coyly as I invited you over for a nightcap that had started it all.

You answer me now like you did back then, in the same disgustingly sweet fashion that I've always found myself secretly adoring. You gaze at me brightly and you offer me one of your trademark heart stopping smiles.

"I don't think I know how to stop."

I return your smile and I hold on to this last moment for as long as I can. And as the lights grow dim and my vision fails, I cling to those words tightly. Peaceful at last in the knowledge that even as the long night falls and the inevitable morning comes, our love is equally as endless.

_Finite._

**AN:** Okay, this one hurt to write but the bunny for it attacked me ruthlessly and wouldn't let me rest. For all the many death and loss fics I've written, I myself have actually never personally experienced loss due to death. I'm lucky that no one in my life that I've ever truly loved has died yet. But when it finally does, I hope goodbye is as loving and hopeful as this was.


End file.
